


Project Corset Removal

by izzyb



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M, Het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-20
Updated: 2010-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:48:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzyb/pseuds/izzyb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuck in a Regency-era holoprogram in the recreation room, McCoy and Chapel make the most of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Project Corset Removal

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. This fic was spawned (heh) by a conversation between fringedweller and myself regarding romance novels and their applications to fanfic. Thus, this baby was born. And it's hilarious, if I do say so myself. Also, suspension of belief is required regarding holographic technology. I am assuming here that the Reboot universe is advanced and has more of the technology seen in the holodecks of centuries later. *shrugs*

"If I have to wear a damned corset, you have to at least dance with me, McCoy." Her breath is coming in short gasps and she's not sure if it's the tight clothing or the nearness of his face to hers as she hisses at him. The other couples give them a wide berth and a few disapproving looks. Not at him, of course--he's the crass American. At her, because, as a proper lady, she's supposed to know better.

And she's caught in the moment, because being stuck in the recreation room's holoprogram, she has to be caught in the moment. At least she's here with McCoy and not someone she isn't attracted to.

"There's nothing in this program that says I can't take the corset off of you, now is there?" His fingers reach up to play with her jeweled necklace and she shivers. He is too good at this.

But he's not the only one good at this.

"There's nothing that says that you have to be the one to take it off," she replies, stepping back and away from those terribly tempting fingers.

The look on his face is priceless, half scowl, half-puzzled desire as she turns away from him and moves towards a crowd of young bucks. They look in her direction and smile, standing straighter and preening as she nears them.

"Just you wait," he hisses as he covers the space between them quickly, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her back to his side.

"Oh no," she says firmly, her no-nonsense tone betrayed by her quick intake of breath and faint flush on her cheeks. "No dance, no corset. Those are the rules."

She's close enough to smell him, all spicy cologne and undertone of man, and she wishes he'd damn well hurry up and get the stupid corset off, Lady Katherine in the corner be damned.

He drags her out of the room, away from the leering men, not subtle in any way, and Christine hears the tongues start wagging in the wake of their leaving. "You do know this is the type of thing to cause a scandal in this time period. I'll be ruined unless you marry me."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," he growls and urges her to walk faster. They end up in an alcove—conveniently located off the main corridor outside the ballroom. "Turn around," he orders.

"You're taking this 'rake' thing a little far, McCoy," she says, but she's reacting to his words and his touch is burning through the thin fabric of her silk dress.

He rolls his eyes. "Turn around, please, my lady, so that I can remove the corset that is ailing you so."

She laughs at the dry tone and spins on her dancing slippers—dancing slippers!—to face the wall. He mutters under his breath as he surveys the back of her dress—it's all pearl buttons and tiny hooks.

"This is going to take a while."

"Just think about how long it took me to get into it," Christine grumbles, trying not to think about his eyes on her, assessing, evaluating, planning. "God knows how women managed back th..."

Her last words are muffled by the sound of tearing fabric and the clattering of hundreds of tiny pearls as they are ripped from their fastenings and fall to the ground.

"Maybe not as long as I thought," he says with an air of triumph. She spins around in horror to see him clutching a large swathe of material. She has to clasp her hands over her breasts to keep the shreds of the dress from falling off her.

"What did you do?" she squeaks in horror.

He grins, that lazy, confident grin that absolutely does not turn her stomach upside-down and make her breath come faster.

"Triage," he explains, reaching out a finger to trace the line of her bared shoulder. "To treat the patient fully, it is necessary to expose those parts of the body that need emergency treatment. Turn around, Christine, I haven't finished yet. We can't have you not breathing properly."

She stares at him openmouthed, acting for all the world like a blushing nineteenth-century virgin.

"W-What am I going to wear when you're done?" she stutters, cursing her stupid nerves and still holding tight to the silk fabric keeping her modesty intact.

"You said I've already ruined you, so don't worry about it." He puts his hands on her bare shoulders and spins her to face the wall again. It isn't the corset suffocating her now—it's the thought that in one more motion of his hand, she would be completely naked while he stood behind her fully-clothed. But he doesn't unlace her right away—instead he lays kisses from the nape of her neck down her back to where the laces begin. Only when she places her hands on the wall and relaxes under his touch does he begin to pop open the corset. One lace at a time.

They both sigh when it drops to the floor—Christine under the release of pressure and McCoy from something a bit more basic from the way he keeps stroking her skin down to the lacy drawers and the tops of her stockings held up by an early version of a garter belt.

"There's something to be said about Regency fashion," he murmurs into her ear and pins her against the wall so there is no give between that and his hard chest. He pushes his knee between her legs and the drawers fall open so easily and readily that Christine understands why a woman could be ruined so quickly in British society circa 1800. Because she's ready for him to take her and he doesn't even have his shirt unbuttoned.

"You're so goddamn sexy, Christine, in every way, but especially like this." He trails his fingers up from the top of her stockings and rips open the fabric even more than it already is.

"You're so destructive," she pants out, then snorts out a laugh at her breathy moan. "I've turned into one of those simpering females in those romance novels Janice eats up like candy." The thought nags at her for a moment, but then he speaks again.

"I'm not complaining," he counters and shifts his knee so that she's riding him. He reaches one arm around her hips to her core and brings it up to circle her clit with the moisture he finds there. "You're so wet. What are you thinking about?"

"Your scowl."

He snorts out a laugh and leans down to nibble at her earlobe. "Really?"

"You scowl and complain when something gets to you and right now I think that's me." She wriggles her ass back into him and he groans. "You think it intimidates me, but it really just turns me on."

"The things I learn," he mutters and continues to touch her. "What do you want?"

"Kiss me."

He drops his knee and allows her to stand first, then turns her around to face him so that she can see he's not unaffected. His face is flushed and he's undone his cravat and the top button of his shirt. She unhooks his trousers—breeches, rather—licks her hand under his intent gaze and then strokes him from root to tip and back down again. He growls and pins her once more to wall, and lifting her legs to wrap around him, he kisses her for the first time, deeply, desperately, hard enough that she bites his lower lip to get his attention so that she can breathe.

"Now," she says.

"Thank God." He keeps her pinned against the wall and lines her up and uses gravity to slide her down onto his erection, his fingers digging into her hips so hard she knows there will be bruises there come morning. She tries to relax her muscles, but she can't help a slight resistance to his entrance until he kisses her again and murmurs encouragement into her ear. "That's right, my beautiful girl, you can take it."

Once he's all the way inside, he stops, leaning his hot face against her neck. "You okay?" he manages to get out.

"Yeah, now fucking move."

"That's no way for a lady to talk," he manages, but starts thrusting, clenching her ass now as he pushes her against the wall; each thrust moving her up and then down onto him, going deeper and making her cry out from the intensity. She squirms against him, holding onto his shoulders, close, but unable to go over.

"Leonard—I need—please."

"Touch yourself," he orders and she obeys, reaching a hand down to finger herself as he moves in her, pulling her closer to him and muttering into her ear as the pleasure spikes and she arches in his arms. He's able to last three, maybe four more thrusts before he too is coming, pulling out at the last second to come on her thigh.

His knees give out then and they sink down to the floor, clutching each other and breathing hard. They're silent for all of a few minutes before Christine starts giggling. She tries to hold it in, but it tumbles out until she's clasping his shirt in her hands and laughing into his neck.

"What?" he wants to know, framing her face with still-trembling hands.

"I figured it out. I mean, besides the fact that I think you like me." He snorts at that. "I figured out who's the mastermind behind this damn scene."

"Pretty sure we can look to the captain—" he starts, but she shakes her head, then rests it against his shoulder, breathing in his scent.

"Not only him. I see touches of Janice in this too. Not that I really mind, but it would be nice to be in control of my own sex life."

He strokes her hair and she almost purrs. "Think we can escape the program now that we've succeeded in making a complete mess of ourselves?"

"Oh, I bet they are just waiting to see us walk out of the rec room. The Captain probably has a guard and everything. Let's wait a while."

"As my lady wishes," he says and leans up against the wall, holding her securely to him. "I'm perfectly content right here."

She murmurs her agreement and closes her eyes, forgetting where they are until a few minutes later.

"Ruined! My daughter is ruined!" she hears, cracks open an eye and groans at the people filling the room. Janice is so very dead.


End file.
